


High Places

by idyll



Category: My Chemical Romance, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Crossover, Earth, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-13
Updated: 2007-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-07 10:23:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idyll/pseuds/idyll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard is making John dinner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	High Places

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pinn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinn/gifts).



> Pinn asked for this after I babbled to her about this fic I had outlined but hadn't written, which involves Gerard and John meeting a few years down the line in the check out line of a supermarket in Oregon. All you need to know is they met, John paid for Gerard's groceries, and Gerard insisted on, like, making him dinner to repay him. *hands*

When John gets to Gerard's house, Gerard lets him in with an almost surprised look on his face, as though he'd forgotten that John was meant to be here. It gives John a moment of hesitation before he breathes in and realizes something the scent of something Italian-esque is wafting through the house.

Gerard smiles then, a crooked thing that's just this side of dazzling. "John! Oh, hey, come in, come in." He steps back and opens the door wider, and John notices that his hands are streaked with colors. "I hope you like Italian. Oh, and I don't do the meat thing. I probably should have mentioned that before."

Spending years visiting different worlds in another galaxy has exposed John's stomach to things that shouldn't ever have been considered edible. "I'm okay with meatless meals," he says. "And I don't think anyone actually dislikes Italian."

Gerard laughs; it crackles through the air between them, sounding odd and strange but infectious enough that John's own lips twitch in response.

Gerard leads him through the house quickly, an energized bounce in his step that forces John to use his full stride to keep up. The rooms he passes by and through are a blur and he doesn't get to take any of them in, except for the dining room. The table is occupied by a couple of huge jigsaw puzzles, about a dozen various sketch books, and four table top easels. There's a massive painting on one wall, all dark colors and sharp contrasting whiteness.

John would like to take a closer look but Gerard's come to a dead stop and is staring at the cluttered table, seemingly disheartened.

"Fuck. I didn't--okay, so we'll eat in the kitchen?" It must not be an actual question for John because Gerard doesn't wait for a response before heading through a door, leaving John to trail after him.

The kitchen is a big, open space, with room for a four-person table over by the windows facing the backyard. There's more counter space than John personally would know what to do with. He doesn't think Gerard really knows, either. There are varied and somewhat confusing ingredients strewn all over the counters, half-spilled and out in the open, covering the entire surface area.

John doesn't think soy sauce has any place in Italian dishes and he's sort of wishing he'd thought to suggest Gerard just buy him dinner rather than making it for him. Acquired cast-iron stomach or not, there are just some things that John does not want to put in his mouth.

The kitchen table itself is littered with the detritus of a well-lived-in room: two ashtrays--one overflowing, the other half-full--a coffee-stained mug with its slogan worn off from repeated washings; a cell phone and a cordless phone; piles of mail; four different notebooks; and a slew of comics that John doesn't even recognize the titles of.

Gerard puts everything on an empty microwave cart, pulls a stack of old newspapers off one of the chairs and waves John at it. "Drink? I've got, like, water, diet soda, maybe some juice--wait, forget the juice. I left it out last night and I don't think it's safe for drinking."

John takes a bottle of water and slouches in his seat, legs extended out and crossed at the ankles, while Gerard practically flings himself across the kitchen to the stove. There's a stained and rumpled cookbook open on a stand, and Gerard consults it briefly, reading under his breath and nodding happily to himself.

"So, like, you just moved here, I'm guessing, since you needed me to draw you that map."

"Um, yeah." John sips from his water and shifts uncomfortable. "A few weeks ago. From Colorado."

"Cool. I'm from Jersey." Gerard waves the spoon he was using to stir something and a spray of liquid arcs in its path, unnoticed by Gerard. "Well, originally, yeah, Jersey. But I sort of--" Another wave, another splatter of something, this time sauce-colored. "--traveled a lot for a while. I fucking love it here. What about you? Do you miss home?"

"I was a military brat, then I joined the Air Force and did my own moving around. So I'm not really from anywhere. Colorado's just where I was--" _Officially listed as living, even though I was in the lost city of Atlantis, which I could totally control with my mind._ "--stationed last."

Gerard grins. "We should trade notes! See who's been more places."

The conversation drifts into meaningless inanities then, on account of a pot that boils over and Gerard realizing he should probably focus on what's happening at the stove. John watches, noting the inefficiency of his movements that's a testament to flightiness John's already seen glimpses of. He's thinking that this night can't be over fast enough, but then he realizes that there is actually quite a bit of economy of motion going on, despite what it looks like. Gerard reaches unerringly for the ingredients that are seemingly carelessly spilled about.

There's nothing careless about it, John decides after watching a bit more. Everything's been done that way on purpose. John thinks of Gerard's paint spattered hands, the sketchbooks and easels, and realizes that Gerard's set up a _palate_ of what he needs, right where he needs it.

It's unexpected, the order amidst the supposed chaos, the forethought at the center of apparent flakiness, and John wonders what else there is to Gerard that he might see if he just takes the time to look.

.End


End file.
